


Hunger

by magentacartherwrites



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dark Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Older Man/Younger Man, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magentacartherwrites/pseuds/magentacartherwrites
Summary: The day Credence Barebone met Percival Graves started off insignificantly, as they often did for him.  Little did the boy know that meeting would alter the course of his life forever, and not necessarily in a good way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: In the beginning of the story, Credence meets the original Percival Graves, not Grindlewald in disguise. Grindlewald will come into play in later chapters though and it will be quite obvious to you, the readers, that it is him so there's no confusion. Hope you enjoy my story!!! :)

The day Credence Barebone met Percival Graves started off insignificantly, as they often did for him.  Credence was awoken at the crack of dawn by a sharp ringing hand bell and his mother’s voice echoing throughout the house.  Pulling the thin blanket over his face, the boy attempted to shield his tired eyes from the bright sunlight streaming into the room.  As he laid there, Credence debated with himself if a measly five more minutes of sleep would be worth a slap across the face from his mother.  Probably not, he thought, but he truly was tired and the comfortable position he had found himself in wasn’t helping in the matter.  Despite his internal pleading, the boy willed himself to get out of bed.  

He sleepily drug himself down the creaking stairs and was greeted at the kitchen table by three, impatient looking females.  

“We waited for you, Credence,” the woman at the head of the table spoke, “Have a seat.”

The boy did as he was told and took a seat next to the youngest girl of the three, the slightest expression of worry clouded her features.  Small, untouched bowls of greyish oatmeal had been placed in the middle of the table and the very sight of them made Credence’s empty stomach churn in disgust.

“What took you so long, Credence?”  The woman spoke softly, eyes bearing down on the boy.  

“I’m sorry, Ma.  I was having a bit of trouble getting up this morning.  It won’t happen again.”

As the boy spoke, his dark eyes darted nervously from the bowls of oatmeal to his fiddling hands in front of him.

“I should think so,” the mother said sternly, “You know what will happen if it does, don’t you?”

Credence swallowed hard, his throat dry, “Yes, ma’am.”  

“Very good,” The mother said, nodding her head in finality, “Enjoy breakfast, my children.”

Credence waited until each of the girls had a bowl of oatmeal before reaching for his own… He really was in no hurry to scoff down the grey slop.  

A few minutes and several miserable spoonfuls later, Credence’s mother spoke up.

“We have a very busy day ahead of us, children,” she proclaimed dabbing at her thin mouth with a handkerchief, “We will be speaking and handing out fliers in Times Square so I expect you all to be on your best behaviors.  Once you’re all done with breakfast, I want the three of you to go upstairs, wash up, and get dressed.  Best clothes, if you please.  We need to make a good impression.”

“Yes, ma,” Chastity, the eldest adoptive sister assured as she took another bite of her breakfast, “Will we be splitting up this time or staying together?”

Credence suddenly felt a flutter in his stomach.

“We should split up,” He proclaimed before he could stop himself.

All eyes turned to the boy and he immediately regretted opening his mouth.  

“... Because, uh, Times Square is a big area.  We could cover more ground if we split up… Get more people's attention.”  

Credence lowered his head, cursing himself for even commenting.  He scooped up a large spoonful of the breakfast goo and begrudgingly swallowed it down, hoping that the topic would change or someone would say something.

“Yes,” the boy's mother cooed after a moment of contemplation, “Credence is right.  We will cover more ground if we split up.  Very well!  Credence, you will take West 42nd street and Modesty, you will go with Chastity to West 45th street.”  

“What about you, Ma?” the youngest girl queried.

“I will be in the center of Times Square speaking while the three of you hand out fliers.  I expect all of you to to come home empty handed by the end of the day or there’ll be no supper.”

“Yes, Ma,” the three children said in quiet unison, as if they were already preparing for yet another night without dinner.  

Not another word was uttered as the children finished their oatmeal, cleared off the table, and went upstairs to get ready for the day.  Though his sister’s shared a room, Credence was always thankful that he got one to himself.  He wasn’t a particularly neat person and that reflected not only in his appearance but in the state that his small dwelling.  After dressing - _best clothes of course_ \- Credence stood before the large, cracked mirror that hung on the wall opposite his bed, examining himself.  He really was nothing to look at.  If people did happen to look his way on the busy streets, it was more out of worry for how gaunt and sickly he looked than attraction.  The boy’s hollow cheeks, dark eyes, and lanky frame only served to enhanced his weak image.  

After fingering through his mop of horribly uneven hair, Credence took a final look at himself before bolting from the room and heading downstairs.  His mother and sisters were waiting at the front door, stacks of fliers piled up in each of their arms.   _How did Modesty and Chastity always seem to be ready before him?_

Avoiding her piercing gaze, Credence took a large stack of waivers from his mother and stood with his sisters, awaiting further instruction.  The woman had none to give but instead opened the front door to the house and gestured for the children to go forth.  Credence followed behind his sisters but hardly made it out of the door before a taloned hand wrapped around his arm, preventing him from going any further.

“Spread the word,” he heard his mother's voice hiss in his ear, “Make the truth known!”

“Yes, ma’am,” was all the boy could muster as his mother released is arm and disappeared into the house.

______________________________________________________________________________

It was half past twelve when Credence was finally able to take a break.  He had been working non-stop for nearly six hours, walking the length of West 42nd street and back again, darting back and forth from shop to shop, and all while on an empty stomach… that oatmeal breakfast had done little to quash his never ending hunger.  

    The boy sat in exhaustion on an unoccupied bench in Central Park, his stack of waivers sat beside him and the hot, August sun beat down on him mercilessly.  It had been a bit of a walk from where he was working on 45th street, but it was worth the effort for the peaceful quiet that greeted him as he entered the park.  In the nearly six hours that he had been working, Credence had handed out only half of the pamphlets given to him, and most of the people that took them were not Second Salem sympathizers, but either were too nice or to afraid to say no thank you.  

Tired beyond belief, Credence closed his eyes and relaxed his body against the wooden bench.  As he slowly slipped into a deep sleep, the boy dreamed of being somewhere else.  He fantasized about traveling somewhere far, far away from all the hatred and prejudice that he faced on a daily basis.  Somewhere he could learn to control his magic and practice it whenever and however he pleased.  But did such a paradise exist?  Credence had always been taught by his Ma that witches and other fantastical beings had been feared and hunted down since the dawn of the human race.  Could there truly be a place that accepted and were not afraid of his kind?  

Credence did not get to dwell on his dream of freedom for long.

A sudden, loud creak of the wooden bench startled the boy awake.  A man had sat down on the opposite end of the park bench, brandishing a newspaper that he flipped through absentmindedly.  Credence didn’t even know if the man had seen him or cared that he was there.  Not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself, the boy gathered the stack of waivers in his arms and pulled himself off the park bench.  Before he could even take a step, he heard an unfamiliar voice call to him.

“Excuse me, boy?  What are the pamphlets in you arms for?”

Credence turned to find that the voice belonged to the man that had sat on the bench with him, his face no longer hidden by his newspaper.

“They’re informational fliers about the New Salem Philanthropic Society, sir,” the boy said nervously.  He tried in that moment to remember all the things his mother had taught him to preach about the cause but struggled to.  

“May I see?”

The man folded up his newspapers and set it beside him as he held out a hand.  The boy pulled a leaflet off the top of the stack and handed it to the man, who took it gently and examined it.  

“An anti-witch movement, huh?” the man remarked, his eyes flicking over the writing on the waiver with impressive speed, “You believe in witches, son?”

Credence's breath caught in his throat.   _Tell the truth or lie?_

“I-I know that there are things out there that can’t and shouldn’t be explained.  I don't know if I would classify those unexplainable things as witches, though.  I do this more for my mother than for me.  She’s very adamant about the whole movement.”

The man looked up from the waiver, a spark of interests ignited in his eyes, “Mother?  Oh, I see!  You’re one of the Barebone children, aren’t you?”

Credence nodded his head and looked down in shame.  Great!  It was already embarrassing enough to be attached to the Barebone name, but now that he knew his family had a reputation around the city, it made the embarrassment all the worse.  

“I’ve seen your mother speak several times,” the man continued, casually crossing one leg over the other to get more comfortable on the bench, “Never really had time to stop and listen but I picked up bits and pieces.  She does seem… _passionate_.”  

Credence nearly laughed at the man’s difficulty in finding the most delicate and unoffensive word to describe his mother.  The boy realized at that very moment that he couldn't remember the last time he had smiled, let alone laughed.

“Yes, sir.  She is!  Sometimes too much so!”

“So which Barebone child are you, then?  I’ve heard that you mother has adopted many!”

“Oh, I'm sorry!  I-I'm Credence, sir,” the boy said as he awkwardly tried to free a hand from the load of papers in his arms.  

“Graves.  Percival Graves,” the man beamed, reaching out and taking the boy's hand in his.

As their hands shook, Credence couldn't help take notice to how much warmer and larger the man’s hand was in comparison to his bony digits.  He wanted to hold on a moment longer and savor the warmth but decided against it.  Only after their hands parted did Credence notice that Percival hadn't broken eye contact with him.  Normally, he would have looked away, but he found that he couldn't shake his gaze.   He was not accustomed to such undivided attention but he was really enjoyed it.  It wasn't until he realized that he was staring that Credence finally tore his eyes away from the man.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Graves,” the boy said flustered as he fumbled with the pamphlets in his arms, “It was nice meeting you but I-I should probably be getting back to handing these out!”

“Oh, really?” Percival said, a clear look of disappointment on his face,  “I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about the movement.  I'm quite curious!  Strange as it may seem, I find it all frightfully fascinating!”  

Credence once again felt a flutter in his stomach, but it wasn't like earlier that morning.  This time it was something else… something that actually made him feel _good_!  That feeling was foreign to him.

“I guess I could spare a couple minutes.”

The boy once again sat down on the bench and placed the stack of fliers beside him.  He turned to Percival whose dark eyes looked to him with intense focus.  Unsure of where to start, Credence dove right in, talking about how the anti-witch movement was founded, possible sightings of witches, magic being performed around the city, and all that he was taught by his mother about the history of magical beings.  The entire time the boy spoke, the older man looked to him with constant interest, only stopping the boy to ask a question every now and then.  

Speaking to Percival Graves came as naturally to Credence as breathing.  Somehow, despite knowing him for only a short amount of time, the boy felt calm and relaxed in the man’s presence.  He felt like he could tell Graves anything and he would understand.

Credence spoke to Percival until a loud rumble of his stomach caused him to take pause.  The boy winced and gripped his growling gut, unaware of just how hungry he really was.  He tried to continue speaking but the older man stopped him before he could.  

“Credence?”  Graves asked, his voice full of genuine concern, “When was the last time you ate?”

The boy wanted to tell him.  He wanted to tell Graves of the horrible breakfast he had that morning… the disgusting, greyish oatmeal that he had to suck down while his mother watched.  Instead, Credence resigned to lowering his head and averting his gaze from the older man for the first time since meeting him.

Graves seemed to instantly pick up on what Credence was trying desperately to hide.  He slipped a hand to the inside pocket of his pinstriped suit and pulled out an unopened chocolate bar, gently setting it into the boy's lap.  Credence picked up the bar after a moment and inspected it.  Amazingly, despite the August heat, the bar was not melted in the slightest.  

“It was supposed to be my lunch today,” Graves explained with a slight chuckle, “but I think you need it more than me.”

Credence looked to the older man dishearteningly, “Ma doesn’t let me eat chocolate, or anything sweet.  She’s told me since I was little that when witches first sailed here from Europe that they brought sugar, molasses, and candies with them.  She said that they used the sweets to lure children away from their homes and families.”

Graves threw back his head and laughed as Credence looked to him in confusion.

“I think you’re mother’s been reading too much Brother’s Grimm,” the older man chuckled, trying to catch his breath.  

“...What’s that?”

The man stopped laughing abruptly and looked to the boy, unsure if he was joking or not.

“You know… Brother’s Grimm!  The famous fairy tales?  Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel?”

The boys eyebrows knit in further confusion.

“Not ringing any bells, huh?  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given who your mother is,” Graves said patting the boys back in a joking manner, “You don't have to worry, Credence, a good friend of mine made this chocolate.  In fact, he’s made most of the chocolate in the city.  He made a fortune sending chocolate to the allied forces soldiers during the great war and he used that money to practically buy the chocolate making business for himself.  Now he owns most all of the chocolate shops in New York.”

Credence couldn’t help but be amazed, “Wow, that’s very impressive!”

“Yes, well he is a very good businessman,” Graves chuckled as he looked down at his watch, “And speaking of business, I really best be going.  My lunch break is over!"

Credence felt his heart sink, “You’re leaving?”

“I have to be getting back to work, Credence.  But this has been wonderful, really!”

The older man gathered up his newspaper, pocketed the Second Salemers flier, and stood from the bench.

“Thank you so much for telling me about the Second Salemers movement,” Graves said stretching out a hand to the boy, “It’s been very enlightening.”

As Credence shook the man's hand, he could not hide the sadness in his face.  He did not want Graves to leave.  He wanted to hear about the Grimm Brother’s stories, his job, and all the knowledge in the world that he had been secluded from due to his mother’s controlling nature.  After their hands parted, Percival reached into the inside pocket of his suit and produced a black card that he handed to Credence.

“In case you need to get in touch with me,” he said with a smile, “Also, eat the chocolate.  You need to get some food in your system.”

Credence smiled slightly and looked down at the card.  It was a simple black business card with the words, _PERCIVAL GRAVES - Director of Security for M.A.C.U.S.A,_ embossed in silver.  Credence furrowed his brow and flipped the card over.  There was nothing on the back of the card and nothing on the front that gave an address, telephone number, or anything to help him contact the man again.  Stranger than the lack of contact information though was the unfamiliar acronym where the man apparently worked.

“What is M.A.C.U.S.A?” The boy asked looking up from the black business card.  To his surprise, the older man was nowhere to be seen, “Mr. Graves?”

After a brief look about his surroundings, the boy concluded that Percival must have been in a hurry and left for work.  Credence looked back down again at the card… maybe he somehow missed something.   _In case you need to get in touch with me._ The boy shrugged and pocketed the card, hoping that it would prove to be more useful in the future.  

Another loud rumble of his stomach reminded the boy of how hungry he was.  Mr. Graves was right - he need to get some food in him or his stomach would start eating itself.  The boy grabbed for the still unmelted chocolate off the park bench and slowly unwrapped it.  He knew what chocolate looked like due to visits to the local candy shops while he handed out fliers, but he never dared try to buy a bar for himself to taste it.  Mother would somehow find out… she always did!

_Not this time_ , Credence told himself as he hesitantly bit off a small chunk of the chocolate bar’s corner.  Immediately, the cocoa flavor took over the boy’s mouth as the sweet bite melted on his tongue.  Credence had never tasted anything so rich and creamy before.

He took another bite, a bit bigger that time, and the sensation of sweetness only grew.  After one more bite, the boy regretfully decided to wrap the chocolate back up and save the rest of it for that night. _I’ll have something to look forward to_ , Credence thought happily to himself as he pocketed the half-eaten chocolate.  

For the rest of the day as the boy handed out waivers to the passers by on the streets, there were only two things on his mind… How much he wanted to finish the chocolate in his pocket and when he would get to see Percival Graves again.  

  
  
  
  



End file.
